


The Spoils

by gracediamondsfear



Category: Child 44 (2014), Tom Hardy - Fandom
Genre: Abduction, Bondage, Dominance, Dubious Consent, F/M, First Time, Non Consensual Bondage, Sex Slave, Sexual Coercion, and boots, before Child 44, before Raisa, black leather gloves, educating a virgin, minor Bloodplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4595727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracediamondsfear/pseuds/gracediamondsfear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo is a big deal in the MGB, but still single, reaping the rewards of being a war hero.  While out with his men questioning villagers about a man wanted in Moscow, he rescues a young woman from being raped by his fellow agents. After taking her in, feeding her and caring for her he realizes he wants to keep her as his own...but Gallya isn't so sure.  After all, she's a virgin and she's on the run from the exact man that Leo is looking for.</p>
<p>Another one of my Tom Hardy Single Photo Writing Challenge things that got out of hand and turned into a much longer story.  I'm posting here on AO3 to better keep track of it than on tumblr.  comments, questions, anger at lack of updates are welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Girl In The Barn

_“Wolves and lambs can never be of one mind, but hate each other out and out,”_

_– The Iliad_

 

They stood around the village, staring at the buildings with windows broken, doors broken off hinges, the ground littered with bullets as if they’d fallen from clouds in a storm of rage. The last of the men they’d pulled from the house twitched and died at Leo’s feet, his blood staining his new black boots.

“Fuck,” he said, lighting a cigarette, watching the blood steam on the icy mud road.

His hands shook with adrenaline, sweat on the back of his neck, his pulse beating in his ears like his heart was trying to escape.  Gavrill clapped him on the shoulder, staring out at the same landscape, sighing with frustration.

“He is not here, Leo. We’ve gone through each house, each barn. Questioned everyone,” he said, kicking the dead man in front of them for punctuation.

Leo couldn’t go back empty handed, no traitor, no information, no progress. The informant had promised him, PROMISED him after being beaten within an inch of his life that Petrikov was in this shithole village on the edge of nowhere. And they’d found nothing. He pulled the bottle of pills from his pocket and took two, swallowing them dry, counting slow in his head, to twenty, to thirty…counting until his focus came back, the drive.  

“Leo…come here my friend!” Maxim yelled from across the road. “Some hidden treasure!”

Two of his men stood in the doors of a half collapsed barn, the roof caved in, the windows cracked and dusty enough to make them opaque, the inside dark. The frozen ground crunched under his feet, winter wind whipping up beneath his wool coat as he pulled on his black leather gloves, his cigarette smoldering between his lips.

The men guarding the front of the barn were grinning, fidgety, waiting for Leo to come closer. As he approached he heard a struggle inside, what sounded like an animal in a trap, whining and rustling in the hay. He heard laughing and grunting, a hard slap and a scream.  

It wasn’t an animal.

Pushing the two laughing guards aside, Leo pulled his gun and chambered a bullet.  In the corner of the barn were two more of his men. Young, idiotic children really, and they had her pinned down in the hay, her dark wool stockings torn, revealing her pale legs, gray skirt pushed up around her waist. She squirmed and cried beneath them, kicking her legs hard into their thick thighs, her arms flailing.  He couldn’t see her face, he couldn’t see anything, so he fired his gun into the air and they all stopped moving.

With one hand on each of their collars he pulled the men off of her, throwing them to the ground.

“You’re a disgrace. To your uniform.  To me.  To your country.  Get out.” 

“Just having a bit of fun Leo, she knew we were just playing. Right?” One of them kicked her gently in the leg. “We were just playing, right girl?”

“Get out!” Leo roared.

The barn cleared out, except for him, standing in front of the haystack, looking down at the girl who was trying to straighten her dress, pulling the top closed where the buttons had been torn off.  One of her heavy black shoes was missing.  He found it a few feet away and handed it to her and finally she looked up.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice shaking and small, a tiny trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth, a bruise blooming on her cheek.

All he could see were her eyes.  Even red rimmed and filled with tears he could see how pretty they were, crystal blue, flashes of gray, the color of a winter sky. She put her shoe back on and scooted back further into the corner to lace it up. 

“It’s ok, you’re ok,” he said, holding out a gloved hand. She shrunk away from him, her eyes fiery with anger.

“I’m not ok,” she said, standing.  Her dark hair was smoothed back under a white scarf tied at the nape of her neck. She wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand and stepped forward. “Your men come here, tear our homes apart, kill our families and then just before you leave the rest of us to die you send your boys in here to rape me? No, I’m not ok, _Leo_.” She spat his name out with a mouthful of blood on the floor at his feet. Yet when she took a few more steps forward she wavered on her feet, her knees buckling so that she fell into his arms. 

He was like a warm wall, his coat smelling of tobacco and gunpowder, a hint of sweat.  She looked up into his face as he helped her to sit on an old milking stool.  The cows had died last year.  His eyes were tired, even as they darted around the barn, checking the corners, checking her face…checking, checking, pupils nothing but pin pricks.  He couldn’t be still, but she could see that it exhausted him. 

“I had no idea they were in here. I am sorry. I am sorry they hurt you. They had no business…”

She shrugged off his explanation, crossing her arms over her chest and he had to do his best to hide a smile, amazed at how much she resembled a child pouting in the corner. This close he could see that she was an incredible beauty, yet her cheeks were drawn, her eyes set in dark hollows. When she fell against his chest it had felt like nothing, a ghost.

A lock of her hair had come free from her scarf and he brushed it from her face, tucking it behind her ear with two gloved fingers, staring at her swollen lip, wanting to lick it, taste it. He wanted to smell her neck, rest his head in her lap. He wanted her. He felt suddenly warm, unstable. She was silent, terrified at how he stared into her, silent, his breath warm against her throat.

“What are you doing?” she asked. 

“Tell me your name,” he said, adopting his formal tone, not asking…demanding.  Feeling more comfortable putting compassion behind him.

“Gallya,” she said. “Gallya Belitrova.”

He stood then, pulling her to her feet with one hand on her elbow.  She tensed beneath his tight grip, but walked beside him to the door of the barn, her feet shuffling along beside his long strides. She was lightheaded still, her stomach aching from where one of the men had punched her in the gut to knock her down.  The sun was going down and the wind cut through her thin dress. 

“When did you last eat Gallya?” He asked, looking out at the men piling the dead onto trucks, going through the empty houses, emerging with more acceptable trophies.  

“I…” she looked around, her vision blurring, the smell of blood and death rotting in her lungs. “I haven’t…”

“What?” He stopped walking and she looked up at him, tears rolling down her cheeks, pink in the cold.

“I’m hungry…” she said before falling again.

Leo carried her into the closest house, the sturdiest house, the only one with a good solid door and a deep stone fireplace.  Gavrill and Maxim sat at the table in the kitchen eating the remains of the meal they’d interrupted, dragging a couple from the house and executing them.

“Start a fire.  We’ll stay here until tomorrow,” he said, the girl still limp and unconscious in his arms.

They looked at him, then at her, then nodded and smiled, getting up to gather firewood.  

********

She woke in warmth, feeling him unlacing her shoes, pulling them from her feet. Afraid of what he meant to do to her, she stayed still, pretending to sleep, watching him through the lashes of half closed eyes.  The room was golden with candlelight and he sat at the end of the bed, the top buttons of his uniform were undone, his hair tousled, a few dark shocks hanging in front of his eyes. She liked the shape of his lips, the angle of his jaw. She liked his name…Leo.

As if hearing her thoughts he touched her leg, the bone of her ankle exposed by the tear in her stockings. He ran his finger over the bare skin, under the ripped fabric, looking at her face.  

“Leo, there’s supper!” Someone yelled in the next room.  

He pulled the crumpled white sheet from the bed and tore off a long strip to bind her wrists tightly, then her ankles.  For a moment he did nothing but look at her, his brow furrowed. She felt her pulse start to race, sweat on the back of her neck. To fight him would undoubtedly bring her death.  So all she could do was wait.

He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back from his face, then touched the tender spot on her cheek, just below her eye, the cut on her lip. She flinched and he pulled away, standing up to leave.

“To the victor belong the spoils,” he said, but it was so quiet she could barely hear the words.


	2. Cold Comfort

The comfort of the mattress, the warmth of the room, the glow of the fire made it difficult for Gallya to stay awake, but she did her best, laying still and listening to the soldiers talking while they ransacked the kitchen looking for food, for liquor and cigarettes. She nearly laughed at how surprised they were to find only scraps, the barest necessities, nothing like the opulent lives they must live in Moscow. The front door of the house opened and closed, voices rose and fell.  Every once in a while Leo would walk past the half open door to the room she was in and she would make sure to turn her face away, to appear asleep.

“So much for being a disgrace, eh Demidov?” Someone said. “You just wanted to keep her clean for yourself.”

“Shut your mouth, “ he said. She heard the scratching of chairs on the floor, then a long silence. “She belongs to no one.”

“Then why is she tied up in the bedroom Leo?”

Her heart beat faster, her throat tight and dry awaiting his answer.

“For questioning,” he said, and then their conversation became too quiet to understand.

As she suspected Leo was their leader, or at least he was the one they listened to and trusted, the one they took orders from and didn’t argue with. Of course that could also mean they were afraid of him. As the night went on they spoke of not finding whoever they’d been looking for, they spoke of the citizens in the village hiding him or helping him to escape, of people refusing to talk and paying the price because of it. Leo told him they would not give up. They would find him, no matter what. There was a low, measured anger in his voice that made her pulse race, the sound of someone teetering on the edge. But then there was quiet, just the smell of the crackling fire, the sound of private conversations and the gathering dark.  And for a while she fell asleep.

Her eyes snapped open. The house was quiet and it was dark outside, the sky black, no moon. With every moment that passed she became more afraid.  Leo had rescued her from the men who cornered her in the barn, but why didn’t he just kill her? Why didn’t he question her on the spot or just let her go?  What kind of questioning was he talking about? Night was when the worst things happened.  

His boots were heavy across the wooden floor.

“I know you’re awake, Gallya. You think I don’t know when you’re awake?”

She could smell his cigarette as he walked closer and crouched down to untie her ankles. Before letting her go he reached up beneath her dress and ripped one leg of her stockings off, leaving her leg bare and cold.  

“Stay,” he said, pointing a finger at her as he walked from the room.

She pulled herself up and crouched in the corner of the bed as far away from him as she could get, twisting and pulling her hands to try and untie them, but he was back inside of a minute and she went still. He’d taken off his jacket and unbuttoned his uniform shirt, looking far less intimidating than he had when she first saw him in the barn.  Still, she could see the black gun in his holster that had left so many men dead in the streets of the village. In his hand was the remnant of her stocking, stuffed with chunks of ice and snow. Without a word he pressed it against the bruise on her face and lifted her bound hands to hold it there. Sitting back in the rickety chair beside the bed he rubbed his face with one hand, his voice tired and soft.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I didn’t bring you here to hurt you. You said you were hungry. I sent the others away so you can come into the kitchen and get something to eat. OK?”

She said nothing, just staring at him as the pain throbbed beneath the makeshift ice pack. His eyes were different now. The lids were still heavy with exhaustion, but now they were sharply focused, staring into hers.  The jittery edge was gone, the tension. Tired of waiting for her to agree to his offer he nodded as if making the decision for her and took her arm, pulling her off the bed.

“There isn’t much, but there’s warm coffee and some bread, we found dried meat, potatoes…”

She shuffled along beside him in her torn stockings and he lead her to a chair at the kitchen table. Two oil lamps hung in the corners and the room was warm from a small fire in the stone fireplace. Pulling a chair up beside her he poured himself a glass of vodka from a half empty bottle and drained it. She waited for him to untie her wrists but he only poured a steaming cup of black coffee and put it in front of her before sitting back again to observe. The table was covered with papers and photographs, notebooks and pencils. There were crumpled packages of cigarettes and empty glasses, plates of half eaten food. She walked her fingers across the table and picked up a piece of potato, slipping it into her mouth as if she were stealing it.

He watched every move she made as if committing it to memory, the way her slim fingers crept over the edges of the chipped plates as if he would slap the food out of her hand. She moved like someone who had been hiding and running for quite some time, keeping quiet, blending in, moving carefully so as not to startle anyone. The side of her face was swollen, a purple bruise blooming in a crescent shape along her cheekbone. Her scarf had fallen off as she slept revealing her thick brown hair pulled into a ponytail that hung to her shoulders.  Beautiful, silky smooth hair.  There was also the way her lips moved when she spoke, how she licked the tips of her fingers after taking a bite or held the coffee cup in her bound hands, blowing on the surface with pursed lips, her fingers splayed out like the wings of a butterfly. He felt the stirring of something he didn’t dare acknowledge and quickly shook it off, bringing his authoritarian side to the surface.

“You need meat,” he said. “Something for strength. For energy.”

He picked up a piece of dried beef and held it up to her mouth. She backed away for a moment before taking it, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip when she did. It was delicious, salty and rich, making her stomach rumble with want. Her eyes moved to the notes and pictures on the table, the one of a tall, lanky man with a dark beard.

“Is that who you are looking for?” She asked, touching the edge of the picture.

Leo lit a cigarette and nodded, stretching his neck to each side and rubbing his eyes with two fingers. For a moment she forgot what he’d done, what had happened, where she was, and she felt sorry for him, for what looked like an insurmountable weight on his shoulders.

“Yes,” he said. “Kostas Petrikov.”

Her brow furrowed and she turned the photograph, holding it in her bound hands, trying to get a better look.

“Kostas Petrikov the Kulak?” She asked.

“Do you know him?” Leo scooted his chair closer.

“I know Kostas Petrikov, and that isn’t him.”

“Of course it’s him. We’ve been looking for him for weeks.”

“If you’re looking for Kostas Petrikov from Smolensk, this isn’t him.  He’s a short little pig man, with a scar through his mouth from a knife. Whoever told you this was him was lying, either to help him or to help themselves.”

She said it with a certain amount of pride, either at knowing something that Leo didn’t or at knowing the ways of the world, but whatever it was, Leo knew it was the truth and suddenly he was glad he’d decided to keep her.

“How do you know him Gallya?” He asked, and in a moment she saw his face change, a shadow fall across it, darkening his eyes, his stare locking on hers, his mouth tight, frowning. In that moment she saw how he got answers from people who didn’t want to talk, how he could strike fear in the heart of someone who dared lie to him. He grabbed the seat of her chair and turned her, pulling her close enough that they were only inches apart, his voice, once low and soothing now an insisten growl. “Answer me.”

“He doesn’t live here. He lives in Smolensk, but he was here two weeks ago, just for a few days, to check in on what had been harvested, what had been sold, making sure he got his cut.” Her voice shook, tears pooling in her eyes, her throat tightening, but also knowing that she was a valuable asset. “But there are all kinds of villages around here that he has his hand in. If he was here two weeks ago he can’t be far. I know what he looks like.”

Leo just stared for a moment at the wall behind her head, the cigarette smoldering in his hand. He nodded slowly, considering her theory and hinted at proposition. He could tell, he’d been doing this long enough that he knew she’d told him everything she knew, and when he looked back into her terrified eyes, he knew that she wished she knew more.

“Good,” he said, nodding again. “Good. Get up.”

He took her by the arm again and brought her to the bedroom, closing the door and setting her down on the bed. She watched as he took off his holster, checking the chamber of his gun before setting it on the dresser, every second her heart rate skyrocketing.  She sat in silence hoping she might be forgotten, or go invisible.  Leo sat on the chair and unlaced his black boots.

“Are you tired Gallya? When is the last time you slept inside, in a comfortable bed?”

He unbuttoned his white shirt so that he was only in his uniform pants and white undershirt, standing, unfastening the heavy watch around his wrist.

“A..a few…a week or so.”

He stood close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body but she kept her gaze on the floor, his black socks, the cuffs of his pants stained with mud and blood.  

“Are you still scared of me?” He asked, tipping her chin up so she would look at his face.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she said, although she knew, somehow, deep down, exactly why, she just didn’t want to say it.

He sat down beside her and untied the rope around her wrists, rubbing the red marks they left behind. When he spoke again he didn’t look at her, he couldn’t.

“I’m frustrated. I’m tired. I’m cold, Gallya. I can’t go home and I don’t want to be out here anymore.”

He was still holding her hands in both of his, hanging his head, his hair tousled, hanging in front of his eyes. And Gallya was still afraid of him.

But she was frustrated, and tired, and cold.  She couldn’t go home and she didn’t want to be out there.

With two shaking fingers, she brushed his hair back from his forehead and touched his cheek.  To some it would be imperceptible, but she felt him lean into her palm, his eyes closed.

“Tonight we go to sleep,” she said. “Tomorrow it will be warmer.”

She stood and pulled the cover back on the narrow bed, laying down on her side, facing the wall. Leo slipped in behind her, pulling the wool blanket over the two of them, one arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, the other behind his head so he could easily run his fingers through the smooth silken locks of her hair.


	3. The Witness

He was accustomed to waking with the dawn.  The light was pink through the window of the bedroom, dust motes swirling in the single shaft of sunlight. Winter was setting in and Gallya had slept close beside him all night but had eventually shifted onto her other side, her face nuzzled against his chest, her leg hooked around his. She moaned in her sleep, twisting and shifting her position, her lips brushing against his shoulder.  Looking down he could see the tops of her breasts under her torn dress, rising and falling with each breath. He imagined himself reaching out to stroke them, to kiss the warm, soft flesh, making her gasp and whimper as he ran his tongue over the edge of her slip. Unsurprisingly, he’d woken up hard, but pulled away from her carefully so as not to frighten or wake her. The others would be awake soon and they’d have to move to the next village. He buttoned up his uniform and took his pills, trying to come up with a good enough story to explain to the men why she was going with them and a respectable enough story to convince himself.

He was gone when she woke up, but the bed beside her was still warm, the pillow still smelling like his wool coat. She’d woken up in the night, her eyes quickly adjusting to the shadow and watched him sleep.  He’d looked so soft, so young, his full lips parted, his hair hanging in front of his eyes. She didn’t know how long she sat there, looking at the muscles in his arms, the hair on his chest, the scar that ran through his eyebrow. He didn’t seem half as frightening in the blue darkness. Were he not MGB he would be the sort of man she dreamed of sleeping beside.  And there was nowhere for her to run, no way she’d escape in the cold Russian night, so she pretended. She’d closed her eyes and curled herself into his chest, drinking in his smell and a moment later she’d fallen asleep.

Outside she heard the other soldiers shouting and laughing, trucks starting.  She checked her ankles, her wrists to make sure he’d left her free. Was he letting her go?  Was he done “questioning” her?  She scolded herself for a moment of sadness before she stood and looked out the bedroom window. Seeing nothing, she quickly went through the dresser drawers, pulling out a pair of thick socks and a sweater to put over her torn dress. She laced up her shoes and quietly opened the bedroom door, planning to take the heels of leftover bread and some of the sausages with her as she walked.  

And there he was, standing in front of her in full uniform and coat, his black leather gloves, hat pulled down low, casting his eyes in shadow.  But she knew he was disappointed to find her there.

“Good morning, Gallya,” he said, folding his hands in front of him, blocking her movement. “Where are you going?”

“I…I thought…”

“What, sweetheart? You thought I forgot about you? After our romantic evening together?”

Her face went ashen, her eyes wide, jaw slack. He could see the gears turning in her mind, desperate to remember something that didn’t exist. 

“I’m joking Gallya,” he said, uncomfortable with her fear. “You did nothing but sleep beside me."

He lit a cigarette and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. Holding his cigarette between his lips he lifted his index finger and twirled it indicating she should turn around.

“Leo…”

“No, don’t do this. No begging, no crying. Turn around before I make you turn around.”

“Just tell me what you want, you don’t have to do this…please.”

In a flash he grabbed her elbow, whipping her around, pushing her against the wall, bending her arms up behind her back like bird wings. She whimpered in pain, her bruised cheek pressed up against the wood as he stood behind her, too close, his whole body flattened against hers, the smoke from his cigarette stinging her eyes.

“Please let me go,” she said, her voice the weakest, the smallest he’d heard it. Beautiful and demure.

He leaned forward, holding her by her shoulders, letting her hands fall more comfortably between them.

“Gallya, I’m trying to keep you safe. And I need you. You told me last night that you know Petrikov. You are a witness. You have information. So now you come with us and help us find him.” 

She nodded slowly.

“I’m putting you in cuffs because the boys, they are asking questions, why I keep you around, why I don’t shoot you like I did half this village and be on my way. So I tell them you are under arrest, that you know Petrikov and that you are mine. My witness. And they are to leave you alone. OK?” 

Again she nodded. He threw down his cigarette and crushed it beneath his boot. Then, pulling her wrists together he clicked the cold metal shackles in place, still pressing her against the wall, his lips brushing the skin of her ear, his gloved hand running through her hair, smoothing it away from her neck.

“But you aren’t under arrest Gallya, I promise. But I can’t tell them the truth, the real reason for wanting you chained up beside me in the truck. Do you know what it is?”

She shook her head, her whole body tingling from the touch of his hand, the sound of the wetness in his lips.

“Because I like you Gallya,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper, hot in her ear. “You’re a pretty girl and I want you to be safe. You help us, you tell us where to find Petrikov and perhaps I will reward you when we get to Moscow. ”

He dragged his leather covered finger across her cheek where a tear had fallen. She trembled, her face flaring with heat as she closed her eyes, wondering what he’d do next. He pushed against her harder, just a bit, his hips against hers, his chest heavy on her back making it difficult for her to breathe. His other hand slid up her side, her ribs, light fingers over the side of her breast. She moved her fingers in the cuffs, brushing against the hard muscle between his legs.

The door burst open and Leo pushed off of her smoothly, grabbing her by the arm.

“Maxim, you remember Gallya Belitrova.  She’ll be coming with us to the next village.  Apparently we’ve been rooting out the wrong Kostas Petrikov.”

* * *

She rode in the back of the truck with four others, flanked by two soldiers, facing one of the young men who had attacked her in the barn.  It was difficult to hide her smile when she saw the scratch running down the side of his neck, blood dried where her finger nails had dug in.  He stared at her while rolling a cigarette, making a show of licking the paper, twisting the end over his tongue. 

“Tell me,” he said, crossing his legs, speaking loud enough for them all to hear. “Did he have to force his cock inside you or were you so grateful that you spread your legs in the blink of an eye?”

“Sasha!” the man beside her spat. “Watch your mouth.”

“You’re not really buying this, are you Maxim?  That she’s a witness here for questioning?  That she knows Kostas?  Please. She’s an easy cunt that he wants to keep for himself.” 

“You’re wrong,” she said, her voice barely heard above the roar of the motor. “I DO know Kostas Petrikov. I know exactly what he looks like, what he smells like, how he speaks, what color suits he wears.” She was nearly yelling then. “I know that he has an angry worm colored scar down through both of his fat, greasy lips. I know because I’m the one who gave it to him.”


	4. Chapter 4

Leo took her to every house they visited, pulling her up next to him with one hand on her elbow, sitting her in a chair or on a bed instructing her to stay…like a dog.   

It was her first real look at him, seeing who he was, his job, his loyalty to the state. She’d first met him when she’d needed his help, but now he was the most frightening monster, the houseguest every citizen feared. With every threat of arrest and every promise of trips to Moscow to answer questions, she could see people’s faces go white, women go weak in the knees, backed into corners and holding their children, men, normally strong and defiant cowed in a matter of minutes.  But Leo was stone. Was it the pills he took?  Did they keep him cold, chilling his soul so that a child weeping as he pulled her father outside for a beating didn’t even cause him to blink?  

As the day went on, she found herself going numb, mimicking her captor’s blank stare, slight frown, closing her ears and eyes to the sounds of men being knocked to the frozen dirt, kicked and punched, warning shots fired, women literally on their knees, clawing at his uniform swearing on their children’s lives that they knew nothing that would help in their search. She realized that the numbness was necessary. 

When it came to these men, everyone was lying. When they weren’t satisfied with the answers, Leo’s men tore the houses apart looking for any reason to arrest – banned books, hoarded food, illegal clothing and elegant finery that the citizens weren’t allowed to have. Eventually the second truck was filled with prisoners and Leo ordered them back to Moscow, keeping only his four best men with him to move on to the next town.  

“You sit up front now, with me,” he said, pulling her towards the truck, his hand heavy on the back of her neck, gloved fingers digging into her skin. “Walk.”

Behind her she heard a sudden burst of screaming, a scuffle, then a crackling fire, the smell of smoke, close enough to sting the inside of her nose, burn her eyes. 

“What’s happening?” She asked, struggling in his grip.

“Don’t turn around Gallya, go to the truck.”

He propelled her forward, digging in his pocket for cigarettes. But she managed to pull away and before he could stop her she turned to see a man on his knees, Sasha standing behind him. A single gunshot rang out and the man fell forward.  Behind him his barn roared with flames. She could hear cows lowing and stamping, chickens running and flapping through the yard, the man’s wife wailing, inhuman screams rising over the sound of the fire as she bent over her husband’s lifeless form.

Leo grabbed Gallya and yanked her towards the truck, his face set in a deep frown. He opened the passenger door and nearly threw her in the seat, clamping the handcuffs on her wrists and locking the door. The truck shook as the rest of the men climbed into the back, Leo getting in the driver’s seat last.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, not wanting to look at her, ashen and crying in the beside him. Why hadn’t she listened?  He had a gun, he’d warned her before to listen, did she not understand her situation? Did she have any sense of self preservation? He hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand, making her jump.

“I told you to get in the truck. Stop crying. You did this to yourself.”

He threw the truck into gear and they drove on.

He’d planned to hit a second village, but with only four men, and his mind completely clouded he instead pulled into an abandoned farm.  The house was big, two floors even, with electricity and running water. More and more houses and towns, farms and villages were turning up empty, people fleeing or dying, arrested or executed, carrying what they could to find somewhere else to live.

“We stay here and move out tomorrow morning,” he said, as he helped Gallya out of the passenger seat. “You go in the kitchen, see what we can eat.”

She nodded, grateful for the task, to be out of the truck where the rumbling tires and gray landscape did nothing to distract her from replaying the execution over and over in her mind - the blood spray on the frosted ground, the man falling forward like a dropped a rag doll, the sound of his wife screaming.  Nothing could scrub it from her brain.

The cupboards had canned foods, not much, but she began opening them and heating them on the wood burning stove…gray, overcooked vegetables, mushy and old.  Still, her stomach rumbled with hunger.  

Outside she heard another gunshot and jumped from her skin, her heart beating out of her chest.  She froze, her hand in mid air. Another. Another. Were they under attack? Where was Leo? A moment later Maxim and the man who’s name she didn’t know came in the front door holding limp rabbit carcasses that they threw on the table in front of her, blood leaking out onto the wood.

“You know how to fix these?” Maxim asked. 

“You fix them,” Leo came in from the cold, clapping Maxim on the shoulder. “I asked her to help, not to be our slave. You cook the rabbits, she’s going to lay down.

The men chuckled and Leo shot them a look to shut them up.  He offered Gallya a weak smile and held his hand out.

“Come on girl.  You’re tired, I can see, your day has been long, yes?”

She nodded, walking towards him, surprised at how his presence made her feel safer, more stable, even though he was the one who kept her in chains. He took her hand and lead her upstairs to a room with a double bed, a dresser with a cracked mirror and a little white lamp on a table by the bed.  He sat her down, and pulling a coil of rope from his coat pocket he tied her wrists together, then to the corner of the headboard, giving her a long enough leash to lie down comfortably.

He stared at her as he did it, confused as to why she wasn’t fighting him, begging him to leave her untied, bargaining, arguing.  She only stared off into the distance, over his shoulder, out the window to the purple twilight, a deep furrow in her brow, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Something was wrong, but he didn’t have the energy to find out what. 

“I’ll come get you when its time for supper,” he said, pulling the bedroom door closed behind him. “Get some rest.”

***********

There was vodka with dinner, Leo pouring a few sips for each of them, a bit more for Gallya when he saw her eyes were red from crying.   She drank it quickly and he poured more. They ate in silence, the men too tired to make conversation. Leo watched her pick at the food, her hand shaking as she moved around the bits of rabbit they’d put on her plate.

“Are you not hungry?” Leo asked. “I don’t know when we’ll be stopping for a hot meal again.”

“It’s not every day that I see a man murdered in front of his family,” she said, still staring at nothing, her voice much smaller, much weaker than the day before. “I’m not used to being a witness to murder.”

If she was looking for sympathy or an apology, if she was looking for something to take the disgust away, he didn’t have it.  He’d left that on the battle field.  Killing was nothing to him, not anymore. There was no comfort to give.  Not the kind she wanted. She left the plate and stood.

“No need to tie me down, _master_ , I’m too tired to run.”

She waited in the bedroom while downstairs Leo spoke to his men, giving them orders for the next morning, telling them to pack up the food that was left, and to get some sleep, tomorrow would be a long day. She sat stock still on the bed, her hands folded in her lap, watching the door.  Anxiety was a fascinating thing…it could be good or bad.

“You’re not sleeping,” he said, taking off his jacket, his holster. He put a bottle of vodka and two glasses on the dresser. When she didn’t answer, didn’t react at all, he poured them both a drink, clinking her glass without a smile. “It will help.”

It warmed her from the inside but she still saw red when she closed her eyes. He poured her another and she drank it in one gulp. She shook off the taste, turning her eyes up, looking at the ceiling, then back at him. He sipped, watching her start to go under, her eyes fluttering. She stood and walked to him, pouring herself twice as much, throwing it down her throat.

“I still see it.”

“I told you not to look,” he said, tapping his cigarette on the dresser before putting it between his lips. She paced the room in bare feet with the empty glass in one hand, the other running over the wooden planks in the wall, her steps uneven and wavering, muttering under her breath.

“I’m just trying to stay alive,” she said, so quiet he couldn’t make out all the words. But he could see that her bottom lip was trembling. He was always watching her mouth. “I’m just trying to get somewhere I can stay alive.”

She stumbled against the bed and fell onto it. He thought she was going to pass out. Instead she sat up again, her eyes glassy but open. She walked towards him and put the glass on the table beside the bottle, jerking her head to the side to ask for more. He finished his own drink and took her hand in his, kissing her knuckles.

“You’ve had enough, _kotyonok._ Time for sleep.”

“You’re handsome, very handsome. That’s how you get into people’s brains, yes?” She touched his cheek with her hand, her thumb on his lower lip, pulling it down. “I know men like you.”

Just her touch was enough to start his response, his blood heated, rushing to his cock. But she was barely able to stand, her eyes jittery, unfocused.

“Gallya…”

“I know what you need from me, why you took me along,” she said, sitting down hard on his lap.  

She ran her fingers over the back of his neck, up into his hair. His own eyelids fluttered after only half a drink, goosebumps rising on his arms.

“Don’t do this tonight,” he said, his voice cracking into a whisper. “ _Myshka,_ don’t…”

But she leaned in and pressed her lips to his, licking the seam of his closed mouth, urging him on, opening his mouth with her tiny, hot tongue.  She could feel him, hard beneath her thighs. Why was she afraid of him anyway? Of this? She was an adult. It was time for her to do this, to be with a man.

He grabbed her face, his hands big enough to wrap around the back of her head. She threw her leg over his to straddle him and he kissed her harder, his fingers tangled in her hair, grinding up against her, bending her backwards, aching to rip her dress, to throw her on the bed, to be exhausted the next morning from hours of making her scream.

“You want me Leo? For tonight?”

Her fingers moved to his shirt, the tiny white buttons an easy task for her nimble fingers. 

He pulled back from her beautiful warm lips. She chased his mouth, licking and nipping at his square jaw. He grabbed her by both arms and held her away from him, to better see the flush in her cheeks, the way her chest heaved for breath…but she was drunk, and he knew what she was doing.

“Gallya, no. Stop. Gallya. I can’t.”

She leaned in toward him again, rolling her hips against him, kissing the soft skin below his ear.

“You can, _Kapitan._ I’m telling you that you can.” She ran her hand inside his unbuttoned shirt, over the hair on his firm chest, dragging her fingernails down to his belly.

He pulled her arms away again and stood up, knocking her to the floor. When she didn’t move he crouched down beside her, holding her chin in his hand. Her eyes were glazed over, lids heavy.

“Gallya. No matter what you do, no matter how much you drink, or smoke or sleep or fuck…you will always see it.  Do you understand me? It will always be there.”

She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. Leo wiped them from her cheek and pulled her to her feet, bringing them close together again. He bent down to kiss her gently, chastely, a soft brush against her mouth for comfort alone.

“We’ll see how you feel about me on another night, _Kotik_.”

He helped her into the bed and after unlacing his boots and taking off his shirt he slipped in beside her, pulling her over to rest in the crook of his arm, knowing he’d sleep better feeling her warm breath streaming over his chest.


	5. We Want Her Afraid

Kissing him kept her awake. The feel of his lips soft and heavy against hers, the hot wetness of his tongue in her mouth, slipping over her own, so strange and arousing…she licked her own lips thinking of it, replaying it, goosebumps on her arms, tingles over her scalp.  He was right, she had done it to distract herself, to clear her mind of seeing nothing but violence and death, to replace the images that she knew she’d dream of, but it wasn’t just because she was drunk that she’d been so bold. In her heart she knew that he’d taken her with the intention of…taking her…completely, and the waiting had her wound tight as a spring, waiting for him to strike.  Would he pounce on her suddenly, would he hurt her? Seduce her?  When he found out she was untouched…would he laugh at her?  

But Leo, he fell asleep quickly, his arm holding her tight to his chest, as she lay awake for hours just watching the pulse keep time in his neck.  

******

The next village was smaller. They came upon it from the North, finding a man and woman chopping through the frozen ground, pulling out the last of the potatoes and turnips they may have missed in the fall harvest. The woman stood, holding a hand up to her eyes to shield the sun. Leo stopped the truck and hopped out, turning on his charming, friendly voice, like the man who’d rescued her in the barn. Maxim and Sascha helped her out and they stood back, away from the confrontation, the agents with their guns drawn, Gallya with her hands cuffed in front of her standing between them.

After a few minutes of talk, Gallya could see the woman shaking her head, growing more and more frightened, taking a step or two back to hide behind her husband. Leo’s voice grew louder but she still couldn’t understand him.

“Let me go,” she said to Maxim. “Let me go over with him, she won’t be so afraid.”

“We want her afraid,” he said, lighting a cigarette and shaking out the match. “Him too. They’re scared, they talk.”

“Not if they’re so nervous they can’t think straight. I can tell her what he looks like, Petrikov. It’ll help us find him faster. Let me out.” She turned to expose her cuffed hands and after a moment he clicked the mechanism open.

“You run, I get to shoot you,” Sasha said, pulling his gun from his holster.

******

Leo saw her walking over and scowled, what was she doing out of cuffs? The couple he was talking to knew nothing except for who else to ask, what was Gallya going to do? 

“Can I help you?” He asked, turning his back on the farm couple.

“Let me ask them. I know what he looks like, what he does when he comes to the village.” She kept her eyes trained on the ground, looking up only every few words to see that he was still listening.

The four of them stood in the cold, the wind picking up, her skirt fluttering, chilling her bare legs. He held his hand out to call her forward and she nodded.

“We’re looking for Kostas. He would come in every so often, but not for a long time.  He’s a short man, greasy black hair, a broad chest like a bear. He has a scar through his mouth, like this,” she drew a line down in a diagonal across her lips.

Leo stood behind her, his arms crossed over his chest, watching as the couple listened intensely but still shook their heads.  

“How many farms are in this village?  How big?” she asked.

Still the couple said nothing, but she could see the husband holding his wife’s arm tightly, as if indicating she should stay quiet.  

“May I have a drink of water?” Gallya asked, “I’m feeling lightheaded.”

Leo looked at her, confused, but she only flicked her eyes towards the wife.  

“Take her inside, give her water,” Leo said, pushing her towards the wife. “Come back in two minutes or I come back to get you.”

*******

Inside the house, the wife’s tongue loosened a bit. Like Gallya, she had run into Kostas Petrikov when he came through the town and it hadn’t been pleasant.  

“We paid him our due, showed him our crops…Mikhael threatened him and he left, but I’m so afraid he’ll come back.  He’ll come back and kill Mikhael and…God knows what he’ll do to me. He wanted to take me to Moscow with him, offered my husband an absurd amount of money that I’m sure a weaker man would have accepted.”

Gallya put a hand on her arm and smiled.

“He won’t come back. Leo will find him. Leo will take care of it.”

******** 

She rode in the front again, leaning her head against the window as Leo drove the truck back to Moscow. Maxim and Sascha were angry that he had believed her, taken her word that Petrikov was back in the city and not out among the farms.  Gallya said he had probably found a woman, a girl he liked and was holed up with her somewhere taking his fill.

“Then we will find him in Moscow,” Leo had said, starting the truck. “And if we don’t, we punish you instead.”

********

She had never been to the city before, and as the road became more smooth and even, the land flatter, the buildings more crowded, she felt closed in and afraid.  As if she were already in a prison. Most girls her age dreamed of going to the city, of finding a new life there, but she liked the wilderness, the tall trees and the rushing water.  

Leo drove to the huge gray building that housed the MGB, and the men jumped off the back of the truck, looking to him for direction.  

“Go in and get to work. We’ll find him in the city.  I’ll be back.  Soon.”

********

He lead her into the apartment by the elbow, her hands still cuffed tightly behind her back.  A neighbor on the floor below him looked for a moment and quickly closed his door.  Nobody would say a word about him holding someone captive. He could cut her throat in front of their eyes and no one would blink. His job came with certain allowances.

He brought her to the couch and sat her down. The apartment was warmer than any of the houses they’d slept in, yet she was shivering hard enough to knock her teeth together.

“You stay here and wait for me, Myshka. Get some rest, I’ll bring you some coffee, something to eat before I go.”

“You…you can take my cuffs off, Kapitan. I won’t leave.”

He said nothing, leaving her bound on the couch. When he came back from his kitchen with a delicate china cup of coffee and a plate of varenyky, he sat beside her, breaking off pieces of the cold dumplings and holding them up to her mouth. 

“My mother makes these, she brings me huge platters of them and I never eat them all.”

She ate slowly, watching him watch her, his face blank, as if he’d forgotten the night before, or was pretending it hadn’t happened.  Her arms and back ached from being in the truck, and after her stomach was full she began to grow tired.  He scooped her up into his arms and brought her into his bedroom, small and sparsely decorated, a single framed photograph on his dresser, a hairbrush, a small metal box with a lock.  He set her on the bed and pushed her backwards, unlacing and pulling off her shoes, throwing a blanket over her as her eyelids fluttered shut.

“I’ll be back for you Kotik, I promise,” as if her fear was that he wouldn’t. 

*******

She slept hard on the comfortable bed, the sheets cool and clean, a soft white pillow.  Outside the sounds of the city were a strange but soothing lullaby, as if she’d finally become invisible, blending in somewhere completely, life going on without noticing her, without finding her, a million girls and she was just another one.

The door creaked open to wake her and Leo shuffled in, taking his hat off and running a hand through his hair.

“Ahh Gallya, I hope you are right about Petrikov,” he said, unbuttoning his jacket, his crisp uniform shirt, sliding his braces off of his shoulders. “They’re calling me a fool to listen to you, to believe that he’s no longer near Smolensk.” 

He lit a cigarette and helped her out of the bed before walking her to the living room and taking her cuffs off. His eyes were tired and red, nearly half closed. He hadn’t shaved in a day or two, his shoulders slumped with stress and exhaustion.  

“But I told them,” he said, pouring two glasses of vodka. “I told them that my little lost Kotyonok wouldn’t lie to me.” He set the glass on the table beside her and his gaze was deadly, locked on her own eyes as if searching for something. He downed his drink and leaned in close to her. “She wouldn’t dare lie to me.” 

“No,” she said quietly, “I wouldn’t.”

“Drink,” he said, pouring himself another glass.

He sat down heavily in the red chair across from her, slumping down into it like a petulant king, his legs stretched out far in front of him.  With a drawn out sigh he reached down to unfasten his pants.

“Come over here, kitten. Come over and suck me off like I know you want to.”

The glass fell from her hand, shattering into a thousand pieces across the hardwood floor.  

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” she fell to her knees, picking up the pieces of wet crystal, a shard of it digging into her shin as she worked. “I’m sorry Kapitan.”

He meant to tell her to stop, to leave the glass for later, but there was something about her on the floor in front of him, crouched in fear at his feet that he couldn’t stop watching.  It made his mouth water. Her hair hung loose, hiding her face like a curtain, the bottoms of her feet dirty and blistered from the inside of her shoes. It made him think of bathing her, squeezing a spongeful of water over her back, covering her body in soap. There was time for these things.

She stood and put the palmful of glass on the table beside the sofa. Blood dripped down her leg but she didn’t notice, too focused on slowing her breathing to care. He curled a finger at her,

“Come here, little girl.” 

She walked over to him and he sat at the edge of his chair, running one hand up under her skirt to her waist, over her hip, down her thigh. She stood, frozen to the spot, her breath locked in her lungs as he hooked his hand around the back of her calf and lifted her leg.  Wobbling on one foot she was forced to hold on to his shoulders, watching as he bent down and licked the blood from her skin, following it to where the glass was lodged just below her knee. His tongue was warm, velvety against her leg, making her lightheaded. He plucked the glass out and sucked at the wound until it stopped bleeding, putting the ruby stained crystal on the table beside him.

“Thank you,” she said, nearly whispering it under her breath.

He reached up and put one hand around the back of her neck, pulling her lips down to his, kissing her gently, but making sure to slip his tongue in over hers, twisting them together as he still held tight to the back of her thigh.  As they kissed his hand inched higher, stroking her skin, the outside of her hip, the curve of her ass where he could feel the outline of her panties, sneaking one finger underneath. 

Gallya gasped and pushed away from him, her cheeks blazing with heat, flushed red all the way down her throat to her chest.

“No, don’t do that now, girl. You said I could have you.  Do you remember that, Gallya? You don’t get to fight now.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back down onto his lap. 

He kissed her again, harder, pulling her down against his chest, his hand moving to the buttons of her dress just as she’d tried to strip him the night before.  She shook in his arms, but kissed him back, doing her best to appease him, but feeling the urgency of his erection between her legs, pushing up against his trousers. It wasn’t only him. She felt a heat, heaviness between her own thighs, jolts of pleasure shooting up her spine as he pressed against her. His hand slipped inside her dress, covering her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple until it rose, taut and hot beneath his touch. She moaned in approval, leaning into his palm and he stopped, nipping at the line of her jaw as he moved to whisper in her ear.

“I thought about your pretty mouth on my cock all day, Kotyonok. I want to feel it, your lips, your tongue on me, sucking me.” He grabbed her wrist and pressed her palm against the bulge in his pants, letting her feel the length, the hard thickness of it. “I can’t wait any longer.” 

“Kapitan…” she started to protest but he pushed her away from his lips, his hands on her shoulders, guiding her to the floor, one hand threading through the length of her hair as she stared up at him, her eyes wide and blue.

“What is it?  Now you play coy with me? What, do you need to be drunk to do what I ask?”

She saw that he was angry with her, frustrated at her clumsiness, her resistance. She looked down as he freed his prick from his woolen trousers, stroking it with one hand while she sat back on her heels in front of him, licking her bottom lip. He put two fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face to look at him.  His voice was softer, more understanding.

“Why are you afraid, Gallya? You think I’m going to hurt you?”

“No,” she said, her eyes looking away even as he held her face still. “I’ve…I’m a virgin, Leo. I’ve never done these things….for anyone.”

His cock twitched in his hand, growing harder, impossibly harder, pulsing and hot.  A virgin, so beautiful, so young and tight and fresh. He would be her first, marking her forever.  How many whores had he fucked since the war, during the war? Women chasing uniforms, then war heroes, and now chasing MGB agents hoping for their protection, women spreading their legs at the slightest invitation if it meant they would be safe. And here was Gallya, clean and untouched and willing, but afraid.  It was that bit of fear that made him feel stronger, bigger, better. 

He pulled her to her feet and stood with her, kissing her on the mouth, holding her tight against his chest before sweeping her off her feet.

“Oh my Myshka,” he said, carrying back to his bedroom. “I’ll teach you everything you’ll ever need.”


	6. A Whispered Lullaby

Embarrassed at how he carried her so gently, speaking so sweetly in her ear, Gallya buried her head against Leo’s chest as he took her back to his bedroom.  When he set her on the ground, closing the heavy door behind him, he turned and took her face in his hands and kissed her – deeply, slowly, sending her into a trance.  His kisses made her scalp tingle, her blood warm in her veins. Even when he stopped he stayed close, his forehead pressed to hers, his lips a breath away.

“Take your dress off,” he whispered, “and sit on the bed for me.”

She nodded, her arousal pushing away any fear, any hesitation.  Leo would show her, he would tell her what he wanted…he would tell her what she wanted. Leo knew.  

Turning away from him she unbuttoned the rest of her simple gray dress and pushed it down her shoulders so that she wore only her white slip, her nipples hardened, dark peaks beneath the thin fabric.  Before sitting on the bed she ran her fingers through her hair and smoothed it, pulling it all over one shoulder, tucking it behind her ears, doing anything to make herself look more alluring, more feminine…sexy. 

It was everything in him not to simply push her onto her back and pin her to the mattress, to hear that whimper of surprise, pain and exquisite ecstasy when he pushed into her. But he could see she was nervous, her hands folded in her lap so tightly that her knuckles turned white. He pulled them up to his lips and kissed each little bone.  

“Don’t be afraid of me Gallya.  I’ll make you feel so good, my pretty girl. You’ll forget to be afraid of me.”

She only nodded, her eyes still on the floor.   

“Wait for me here, Kotyonok,” he said, pulling is undershirt over his head. “I know what you need.”

She liked watching the muscles move in his broad back as he left the room, the thick tendon that connected shoulder to neck.  His body was beautiful, tempting in all its strength.  But she wasn’t the kind of woman who would jump up and grab him back, who would call out for him to come touch her like she’d imagined he would…she kept quiet and waited.

He filled the bathtub with water hot enough to steam the mirror, much deeper than usual, a luxury he didn’t normally indulge in.  When it was full he stripped and went out to get her, still sitting, prim and proper, perched on the edge of his bed as if she might flee at any moment.  He pretended not to see her fear and pulled her to her feet. She looked up at him and he saw the tears in her eyes finally shaken loose, glittering down her cheeks.  He kissed them away and she sighed. 

“I’ll be quite a disappointment to you, Kapitan. I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said, trying not to stare at the erection between his legs, thick and heavy.

He slid the thin straps of her slip down her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, then, hooking his fingers beneath the fabric of her panties, pulled them down slowly, kissing the bone of her hip as he pushed them down her thighs.

“It’s ok, little kitten, I do.”

Her skin was smooth and hot beneath his lips and he pressed another kiss to her breast as he stood again, the two of them naked, her eyes focused on the ceiling. Leo took her by the hand and lead her towards the bath. She held tight to him, as if the floor would give out from under her and he smiled at how frail and quiet she’d turned, how different from the drunk seductress of the night before, remembering how her hands shook as she undid his buttons.  

He stepped into the bath before her and held a hand out to help her in.

“Come on, it’s warm. It will feel good after all of our traveling.”

She stepped in and sat down between his legs, sighing as the warm water loosened her muscles in an instant, her body softening back against him. He held up a sponge and squeezed the hot water over her chest, her stomach, her eyes locked on the rivulets running down between her breasts. With one hand he tipped her head back against his shoulder.

“Relax little kitten, let me show you,” he said, running the sponge over her arms, the tops of her legs.

All she could think of was his cock, hard and hot, pressed against her back, her mind a mix of lust and anxiety, want and fear.  Leo dropped the sponge and stroked her with his hands, her breasts, her hips, deftly spreading her thighs and running two fingers between her legs.

“Has a man ever touched your pussy, Gallya?” he whispered in her ear. His fingers worked a bit deeper as she shook her head, her back arching away from him, knees bending to further open herself more. “No? No one has ever felt this hot slippery cunt before? And what about you?” He asked, his tongue tracing the shell of her ear, lips kissing the wet skin on her neck. “I bet you’ve felt it, right? _Blyad_ , I would love to watch you fuck yourself with your fingers, kitten. I bet it’s beautiful.”

He spread her open, teasing her clit with his finger tip, making her gasp, her hips bucking against his hand.

“Oh you want to come, don’t you? You need me to make you come.” His voice was low and even, a whispered lullaby, entrancing her as he slowly slipped two fingers inside her, thrusting, pumping in and out, brushing over her clit every time.  “Will I be the first one to do it, Myshka?  The first one to hear you?” She leaned against him hard, her hips moving over his hand, pushing back against his thrusts, water splashing onto the floor.  He saw her lips moving but no sound coming out so he stopped.

“What is it? What are you saying?”

“More,” she said, pushing against his hand. “T…talk more. T-tell me what you’ll do.” 

Leo groaned, quickly sinking his fingers deep inside her again, his other hand rolling and pinching her nipples until they were red and swollen.  She writhed and bucked in his grip and he felt her muscles start to clench around him.

“Ohhh…I’m going to do _everything_ to you, Kotik. You _belong_ to me now. I’m going to make you come right now and then, when you’ve recovered I’m going to take you to my bed. I’ll spread your legs again and lick your pretty pussy, drinking you up until you beg me to stop…”

She whined, wrapping her arms around the back of his head, throwing one of her legs over the side of the bathtub. He grunted in her ear, his breath coming in short hot bursts.  Just listening to her, feeling her reaction pushed him closer to his own release as his fingers worked faster and deeper. Her climax overtook her and she stiffened in his grip, her mouth formed into a silent, agonizing scream, cheeks and chest flushed red. Leo groaned with her at the feel of his fingers sunk deep inside her, the heat, the silken wetness.

Catching her breath, Gallya pulled away from him and flipped over to straddle his thighs. Holding tight to his jaw she kissed him hard, her tongue driving in over his, her breasts pressed against his chest, his erection pressing against her belly. She moved her hand to touch him but hesitated, drawing back.

“Go on,” he said, resting his head on the edge of the bath cocked to the side, looking like some Roman god, his arms draped over the sides of the tub. “It isn’t going to take much, Kotik.”

Leaning in to kiss him again, she wrapped her hand around him beneath the surface of the water. The sound came from low in his throat so she gripped him a little tighter, moving her hand up and down, brushing her thumb over the head, watching the reactions on his face with every stroke.

“Mmm, oh pretty girl it feels so good.” He closed his hand over hers, helping her to jack him harder, a bit faster, his brow furrowed in concentration, his lips mashed together. “Fuck,” he said, bucking against her hand, his movements sharp and erratic.

She felt him explode, his cock pulsing in her grip, a warm heat running over her fist as he came. The steam had dampened his hair and it hung in front of his eye as he caught his breath, his chest heaving, her hand still tight around him until he told her to let go.  Watching his face twisted in such pleasure, knowing that she’d given it to him made her feel it again, that yearning, the pulsing warmth in her belly.  She wanted him to do the things he’d promised, the things he’d whispered in her ear.

He pulled her down against his chest and kissed the top of her head, his hand running over the length of her spine, down to the cleft of her ass.  

“Now we’re both a little more relaxed, yes?” He said, stroking between her legs. She nodded, licking at the drops of water on his skin. “Good. Then we can go to bed.”


	7. Marked

There was something luxurious and sexy about walking from the bathroom completely naked, their bodies still dripping, her skin pink from the heat of the water, hair damp, sticking to the sides of her face.  He laced their fingers together but walked ahead and watching him move she was reminded of the pictures of Greek statues she’d seen, warriors and wrestlers, straining sinewy muscles under white marble skin. His body was covered in scars, some faded to a pale line, others newly healing, a starburst on the back of his arm from a gunshot wound. It only made him more beautiful to her.  Terrifying and beautiful, invincible maybe.

Holding both of her hands he brought her to the side of the bed and guided her down.

“Sit, let me look at you like this,” he said, moving to position her how he liked as if she were a china doll, a treasure on a shelf set at just the right angle.  She rested back on her hands as he spread her thighs, baring her still sensitive sex to the cold air.  When he ran his fingers through the patch of damp, dark hair between her legs she felt herself blush again at how he exposed her, but didn’t dare protest or move to close her knees.  

“This,” he said, kneeling in front of her and leaning forward to kiss her on the mouth, pushing her hair back over her shoulders to fully expose her breasts, “this is how I want to always think of you, kitten.” He closed his lips around one of her hardened nipples, swirling his tongue around the taut skin, suckling while she let her head drop back, her eyes close. 

“I’ll leave you in the morning sleeping, curled up in the blankets,” he said, moving to the other breast, giving it the same attention. “And when I come home I want to find you here, on the edge of my bed, naked with your legs spread for me, your pussy wet and pink,” he bent down to kiss her stomach, to dip his tongue into her navel sending a jolt of arousal between her legs. “Just waiting to get fucked.” 

It was the way he said it, the harsh sound of the letters strung together, like a bite through his teeth. He sounded like an angry beast and without warning she gasped as her whole body shivered, a twitch of muscles between her legs, breath caught in her throat.

“What’s this?” he said, leaning forward to kiss the bone of her jaw, the flutter of skin where her pulse was racing in her neck. “What got you so hot just then, little mouse?”

“When…when…you talk…the things you say.”

He pulled back and smiled, a dark, knowing smile that made her both nervous and aroused.

“Ohh,” he said, long and drawn out, a realization. Then he leaned in again, his cock pressed to her stomach, his hands in her hair, cradling her at the back of her neck. He kissed her on the mouth, his tongue hot over hers, then moved to whisper in her ear, brushing her hair back so she could feel each syllable. “You’re a filthy little girl, aren’t you, Gallya?  You like me to talk to you like you’re one of the dozens of whores I’ve fucked,” he said. 

She squirmed beneath him, moaning, desperate to close her legs, to find some friction, some release for her throbbing core. But he stood still between her spread thighs, denying her any bit of relief. But he was already hard again, and as he whispered in her ear, his cock, wet at the tip, slid over her belly, up and down, teasing, his chest pressed against hers as she whined. A shock of his damp hair hung in front of his eye, the rest slicked back neatly as if he were just starting to come undone. 

“You’d be surprised to see how many women spread for me.  How badly they want me inside them.  But I like it best when they’re a little bit afraid,” he said, biting into the skin of her shoulder. She cried out, falling onto her back so that he was flattened on top of her, still grinding against her, still keeping her legs apart, but now he had her wrists pinned high above her head, both held tight in one strong hand as the other reached down to stroke her, finding her wetter than he could have imagined, his fingers slipping easily between her delicate lips.  Still he kept his lips against her ear. “ _Please, please agent Demidov, please don’t arrest me, I’ll do anything. Anything_. And they do. And they pretend they’re disgusted, they pretend they don’t really want it, that its beneath them, but when they’re bent over the kitchen table and my cock is buried inside them, they come harder than they’d ever imagined.”

She whined and bucked, turned her head, trying to catch his lips, his tongue, to kiss him, taste him, but he pulled away and brought his hand up to her mouth, swiping her own slick wetness over her lips before slipping two fingers inside her mouth, thick, salty and rough on her tongue.

“Suck,” he said, “taste it.”

As she did, he let go of her wrists and slid down, kissing her throat, massaging her breasts, dragging his tongue down the flat plane of her belly. He pulled his fingers from her mouth and held her thighs apart with two hands, rubbing his stubbled cheek on the inside of her leg, his breath a hot stream over her pussy.  She looked down to find him staring at her, his eyes piercing, glittering in the dark room. When she realized what was going to happen it almost drove her over the edge, just the thought of it had her pushing forward towards his grinning face, but he held her hips still, right where he wanted her.

“You want to come again? Is that what you want?” He kissed the tender skin where her thigh met her hip and she whined. “I’ll give you what you want pretty girl.  You have to tell me something though.” He licked her slow, just once from bottom to top, brushing the tip of his tongue over her aching clit. It was everything in him not to go on, not to suck her dry, that earthy copper musk. But he held back to get what he needed. 

“Tell me you’re my whore.”

“I…Leo…” she twisted in his grip, looking for his mouth again, driven mad by the pulsing hot arousal between her legs, the wetness she could feel on her thighs, that she could taste on her tongue. But she didn’t want to say it. This was her first time.  She was a virgin. From virgin to whore in one night?  She closed her eyes. “Please.”

“Tell me Gallya. Say - I’m your whore Leo, do anything you want. Anything. I have to know that you’ll let me do anything.”

Still he stared up at her from between her legs, his eyes searching hers, waiting for the answer, a single fingertip sliding up and down her cunt, too light to give any relief, just a reminder that he was there and could blind her with pleasure. She whined and pouted, her brow furrowed. Did it mean she was a slave? A prisoner?  Did it mean she’d never be able to leave?  And what would be so bad about that?  Three days ago she had nowhere to sleep, no food, and now if she just gave up her body to whatever he wanted, she could live in comfort. There was no such thing as pride anymore.  You did what you had to.  She reached down and held tight to his hair, staring into his eyes.

“Anything Leo.  I’m your whore.  You can do anything to me.”

“Good girl,” he said, nodding. “I look forward to it.” 

She closed her eyes and blocked out everything but the feeling of his mouth on her, his full, soft lips suckling, kissing her as gently and deeply as he had her mouth, his tongue like a serpent, finding her center, circling her clit, dipping inside and pulling out, pushing her close and taking her back, humming against her until her legs trembled beneath his hands. When she couldn’t wait any longer she reached down with her own hand and pressed it between them so she could feel his tongue move, feel his lips slippery and warm.  He sucked her fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them, between them, then backed off and helped her to guide her own fingers inside.

“Go on, pretty girl,” he said, breathing over her skin, “fuck yourself with your fingers, stay wet for me.”

He stood and pulled her hips to the edge of the bed, stroking his cock while he watched her tentatively push two fingers inside herself. He was amazed at her movements, how naturally sensual, her back arching, her other hand closing over her breast.  It was just as he imagined, beautiful, her milky pale skin and dark hair fanned out over the blankets, her mouth fallen open, eyes closed.  She was lost in her own ecstasy.   

But he couldn’t wait anymore. He pulled her hand away and replaced it with the head of his cock, rubbing, teasing, pushing forward slowly.

“Open your eyes, Shlyuka, watch me take you. I’ll go slow.”

“Will it hurt?”

He stopped at the sound of her words, the tiny tremble in her voice, the honesty.  It was true he got off on a bit of fear, a tear sliding down a woman’s cheek.  He loved to listen to them beg and bargain, to watch them show their weaknesses. But he didn’t want her to hurt. Not like that. When he didn’t reply she opened her eyes to look for her answer, holding his gaze, but still rolling her hips against him, letting him know he could continue.

“I would never try to hurt you, Gallya,” he whispered, crouching over her, stroking her hair. He pushed forward and she gasped. He kissed her open mouth and pressed against her, sinking in deeper. “Whatever hurt you feel I’ll take away, I promise you, Kotik.” 

As he thrust in deeper, she dug her fingernails into his back, hissing through her teeth, her forehead pressed into Leo’s shoulder. But she took him, all of him, her body so warm and tight around him he didn’t think he’d last.  For a moment he didn’t move, only held her as she loosened her grip on him.

“Look at me,” he said, grabbing her jaw. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head and he kissed her again, moving inside her, slow strokes, soothing her whimpers with his mouth. It wasn’t until he felt her legs wrap over his that he knew she was ready.  He pulled back and thrust into her hard, her back arching up from the bed, making her cry out his name.  Again. Again. She cried out each time, but her hips began moving with him, her legs pulling him against her.  He felt his climax building, the tightening, the heat.  He growled in her ear, pulling at her hair to expose her throat, sucking at her pulse, the thick tendon in her neck. He moved faster, harder, each thrust sending her backwards.

“You’re all mine now Shlyuka, I’ve marked you.  You’ll never be rid of me.”

She pushed back against him, her fingernails again in his back, but not in pain, in ownership, trying to pull more of him inside, to meld together. Her own orgasm, denied as he’d teased her for so long, rushed forward and overtook her, a strangled cry escaping as he hammered into her.  The feeling of her walls, rippling, clenching around him set him off and he buried himself to the hilt groaned, his vision blurred, sparkling, his own face hot and flushed.  It took him a moment to recover, the last spasms wrenching every bit of energy from him, and it wasn’t until he fell forward across her chest that he heard her breathy words beneath him repeated over and over like a prayer,

“Thank you Leo.  Thank you.  I’m yours. Always yours.”


End file.
